All their talks had centered on his hopes and plans. Hadn’t she mentioned something once? Her search for that aviatrix. He remembered the excitement he’d felt when he saw her maps and diagrams. His idea of using sonar in an underwater search. Could he be content following her, and working with the electronics of the ship? Was this all too late?
* * *
After the meeting, a few officers invited Nye out for a meal in Faucher. Nye suspected there would be little food but plenty of wine. God only knew where the French kept all their bottles. But he declined, telling them he would return in the morning for transport to Poitiers.
Hurrying to the motor pool, he inquired about a car. There were none to be found, so he requisitioned a bicycle and wobbled out of the city, heading west. It was twenty kilometers to Trois Cloches and a few more to the library.
Surely there could be nothing difficult about riding a bike, but he was tired and thirsty by the time he got to the outskirts of the village. The sun dipped below the horizon just as he toiled up the last small hill to the fields and the library beyond. Thick grass and vines had overtaken the path, impeding his progress.
He caught sight of Katrinka drowsing in an old farm cart, her skin glowing in the pearl-colored light. Crickets were serenading, and an evening wind rippled across the fields, bringing with it the delicate scent of wild thyme. He stopped a few feet away, gazing down at her face. The scarf in her hair had come undone, and dark locks tumbled about her face. The man shivered. He experienced an ineffable sense of elation, as if stepping weightless out into a great void.
* * *
Katrinka heard a cough and started awake. She smiled, seeing Wills before her. She regarded him with sleepy eyes.
“You’ve come back.”
“We ended early. I’ve got to return tomorrow. What are you doing here, Trinka? Asleep like the king’s daughter in the straw.”
“I knew if you came back, you would have to cross this field. I was waiting for you.”
He was standing with the bike between his legs, leaning on the handlebars and smiling down at her. Desire for the man rolled over her in a wave so thick, she swallowed, thinking she would taste him on her tongue.
She reached out with her arms, “Make love to me, Wills, here in the straw and soft light. Before you go away.”
His smile faded. Slowly, he dismounted from the bicycle, laying it in the grass. He stood contemplating her, with an almost thoughtful expression. The next moment, he was sitting next to her in the cart. He was warm where the sun had touched his skin. He leaned down, brushing her mouth with a kiss, and then pulled back, searching her face. He seemed to be haloed in the fading light. Katrinka licked his saltiness from her lips. Her entire body reverberated with the taste of it.
She undid his buttons. He unfastened her skirt, and pulled off her jumper and blouse. There was nothing underneath. She helped him out of his clothing, and they were naked. His cock was hard and pointing upward. She saw him hesitate.
“I have a… do you want—” he began.
“No. I want you without any—”
He interrupted her. “Trinka, if you had our child, do you think I could ever let either of you go?”
The pain in his voice cut her to the quick. She spoke without caution, and straight from her unpractical heart. “I love you, Wills. And I’ll take everything that might come with it.”
He nodded, but his fingers trembled slightly as he flattened his tunic on the bed of the cart. “Lie down on this, sweetheart, a bit more comfortable, I think.”
She slid back, looking up at him. A scattering of dark, curly hair crossed his chest; his shoulders were ropy with muscles. There were tan lines at his wrists where white arms met browned hands. Strong hands that she’d seen perform so many tasks. His sexual presence heavied the air around her, making her shaky. She trailed her fingers down either side of his neck and along his arms, feeling the hard muscles ripple. “Kiss me again, Wills.”
* * *
A while later, Nye woke, needing to relieve himself. Afterwards, he came back to the cart and lay down next to Katrinka’s slumbering body, propping himself up on one elbow. Her hair was damp with sweat and clung to her shoulders. Her head rested in the curve of an arm. He leaned over her and cupped one soft breast in his hands, kissing it tenderly, smelling the woodsy scent of her skin. He stroked the hair back from her face, feeling its damp warmth. He would never let her go.
Under his touch, she half-opened her eyes and smiled. Nye rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. She leaned down to give him a lazy kiss, sealing her lips over his and licking the inside of his mouth. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she raised herself up onto her knees. She grasped his penis and began massaging the shaft, while stroking herself with its head, letting it slip in and around the moist opening to her vagina.
He was making hissing noises between gritted teeth. He pushed himself into her, holding her waist with both hands. She squealed with pleasure. Leaning over him, she used her knees to raise herself up and down on his cock.
He moved slowly at first, then faster, with deepening strokes. A few moments later, unbelievably, Nye felt himself growing soft. He pumped harder, but it was useless. Dammit, what the hell was going on?
“Wills.”
Frantically, he continued pumping. His penis began to slip out of her.
“Wills!”
He looked up, mortified.
She sat back and laughed. “Dear Wills, we need to stop. We’re finished for a while.”
His voice was distraught. “I don’t know what happened. You felt so good, I…”
She smoothed back his sweating hair. “How far did you ride your bike tonight?”
“Not too far, around twenty kilometers, but—”
“And you must ride it back tomorrow.” She peered at his watch. “Rather, in a few hours.”
“Is it after midnight?”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“Sweetheart, just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”
“You will not be fine in a minute. You are going to sleep right now. Do you want to go up to the library for a proper rest?”
“No.”
She rolled off him. “Then lie down, I’ll hold you in my arms. Yes, like that; get comfortable. You’re exhausted. Have you had anything to eat?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Of course not, you had to go rushing off on your bicycle. There will be other times, when we don’t have to use the back of a haycart.”
“I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be right now.”
“No more talking; try to get some rest.”
He turned over with his backside pressing against her, and she curled herself around him.
He was asleep in moments.
* * *
Later, Nye roused himself, feeling stiff and sore. It was cooler now, and the sky was lightening. An early morning mist hung over the fields. He should be heading back.
He sat up and stretched, dangling his long legs over the end of the cart. He wished for his pipe. He glanced back as Katrinka stirred, rubbing her eyes.
“You are leaving?”
He nodded.
She sat up and leaned against him, sliding both her arms around his waist. They sat together in the gray light.
She sighed. “Oh Wills.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. Quite.”
Chapter 11
France, 1944
For the next few days, Katrinka tried to keep busy. The library had a small garden at the back of the building, and after finding tools, she began some weeding and pruning. The feel of moist earth tumbling between her fingers soothed her nerves, and she loved its loamy smell.
One afternoon, a small, bulky package came by courier, addressed to her. She opened it, and found her visa docu
ments and working papers. Wills had also purchased her a suit of warm, green wool to replace her schoolgirl clothing. There was a personal note, which Katrinka read and then tucked into her pocket. He would not be returning before she left.
There was nothing more to do but pack her few possessions and wait for next week’s transport to Paris, and from there to the port of Dieppe. In the packet, she also found directions to the news agency’s office, where she would meet the editor.
* * *
Early the next morning, Valentine came in before his departure, grinning down at her in his jaunty way. “I hear you’re headed to London.”
“Yes, the major found me a placement. I will work there until my father is ready to go back to California.”
He nodded.
“And you? Where are you off to after Paris, Val?”
“I’ll be sent back to England for training. After that—who knows. When the war is over, I’ll go back to England. There is nothing for me here.”
“Any special person waiting for you in Paris? Any hearts to break?”
He blushed. “A good friend is on leave there now, just in from North Africa. I hope we’ll meet up.”
Katrinka gave him a long look. “He must be pretty special.”
Val started, and then blushed again.
She spoke gently, “It must be very difficult for you.”
He shrugged. “Oh, it’s the war, you know. Puts people in these intense situations one would never normally have to deal with.”
Her eyes watered.
He peered down at her. “Look here, is there somewhere we can talk? I have a few hours. Come down to the café with me, and we’ll have a last meal together.”
They took the old Norton into town, Katrinka clinging to the back, as Val drove in his normal hair-raising manner. Sitting at a table in the rear of the café, they placed their order, and made small talk until the food arrived.
After the meal Val reached over, taking her hand. “Kat, I don’t mean to interfere, but you must speak to Farr. You have to clear up this thing between you. The man was a mess.”
She looked away.
“You need to fix it,” he urged.
She shrugged, “How?”
“He was in Paris to collect his orders and papers from HQ. I sent him a message. He might still be there, waiting for transport. I won’t have much time, but I’ll try to look him up. If he’s still there, where can he contact you? Where can you be reached?”
“I’m often out running errands, but I should be here until next week. Then I’ll be going up to Paris and on to London.”
Val frowned. “Look, this is no good.”
They were both silent.
Suddenly he exclaimed, “Come to Paris with me now! You’re finished here, aren’t you? The major’s gone. Come with me. I’m riding with Giraud in a supply truck this morning. There would be room for you. Have you everything? Your papers? Money?”
She nodded, her face flushed.
“Then come with me. If he’s still there, we’ll find him.”
She struggled with a surge of pleasure. “He won’t want—”
“Of course he will. We leave in an hour. Can you be ready?”
She grinned, her heart slamming in her chest. “Yes, please, Val. Let’s go back now. I’ll get my knapsack and say goodbye.”
Val stood up, glancing at his watch. “Right. Get your things together and meet me out the front of the library as soon as you can.” He smiled down at her, “We’ll find him, Kat.”
Thirty minutes later, Katrinka had changed into her French schoolgirl skirt and sweater. She packed her knapsack with her book, identification papers, and the new wool suit. She stowed away her knife as well. Standing in the doorway of her small room, she took one last look around. Her throat was dry, and she had to keep swallowing.
She turned and ran down the stairs to the waiting truck. Val tossed her knapsack into the back and boosted her up, before jumping in next to her in the front seat, and then they were off.
* * *
They got to Paris late that evening. It was early November, and a cold drizzle fell over the city. Despite the gray weather, the streets were crowded with men in uniforms, their arms wrapped around laughing young women, while people spilled out from the cafés and cinema. Times were hard, food was rationed, and fuel in short supply, but after almost three months since its liberation, Paris was still en fête. The smell of pipe tobacco drifted in the air, its acrid odor reminding her of Wills.
After Giraud dropped them off, Val checked in at the transit barracks, then helped her to find a room at a small hotel nearby. Leaving her there, he went out to see what he could find.
Katrinka sank into the bed and fell asleep immediately. Later, she was awakened by a knock, and stumbled to the door. Val stood there with another man. He was slender and had a wide mouth with a lopsided grin. Both swayed slightly, and Val’s eyes were bloodshot. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the room.
“Val. Come in.”
“Can’t stay, we’re off to meet friends.” He indicated the young man. “This is Andrew. Andrew, Katrinka.”
The tall boy drawled, “How d’you do?”
Val shoved a piece of paper into her hands. “He’s still here. One of the Jeds knew his whereabouts. He has a room over at the Hotel Chaillot near the Rue de Aalis, which is not too far away. Can you find it all right? Shall we go with you?”
In his present condition, she doubted Val would be able to find anything. She shook her head. “I can find it.”
He and Andrew were already out the door, weaving down the hallway. At the stairwell, he turned unexpectedly, giving her a radiant smile. “I hope it all goes well for you, Kat.”
“And you,” she called softly.
Then they were gone.
She sat on the bed, studying the paper and its roughly drawn map. It did not look too difficult. She could always ask someone. Her throat was dry, and she was having trouble swallowing again. Grabbing her sweater, she set off.
The streets were thronged with people, and the jumbled aromas of food cooking, stale urine, and cigarette smoke filled her nostrils. The air was cold and wet.
Presently she found the hotel, a small, run-down building tucked away on a backstreet. She looked up at the windows, their broken shutters hanging from rusted fastenings. Katrinka entered the building and despite the cold, broke into a clammy sweat. The concierge sat in a little alcove darning a sock, a cigarette drooping from her lips.
She gave her request to the woman.
The concierge stopped her darning and squinted up at her. “This man you are looking for, he has fair hair, does he not? Broad-shouldered, with unhappy eyes, I think.”
Katrinka nodded.
“His room is up the stairs, number four. I do not know if he is in. I was gone to the market earlier. His key is not here.”
Her heart pounding, Katrinka thanked her and headed for the stairs. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he slammed the door in her face? What if he was there with another… She shook her head.
She stopped at his door. Dizzy and feeling slightly sick, she leaned over the balustrade, with her head down. After a minute she turned to the door, raised her hand, and knocked loudly. Nothing. Just a long silence. She raised her hand to knock again, when the door next to her flew open, and a young couple tumbled out. A woman with very blonde hair and slash of red lipstick clung to a man in uniform.
She spoke in rapid French. “Is it the American soldier you look for?”
“Yes, has he gone out?”
“Oui, he has gone out.”
“Do you know when he might return?”
The girl laughed, exposing bad teeth. “But no! You see, we celebrate. There are many parties. That one will not be back tonight.”
Seeing Katrinka’s
face, she made amends. “But you are here now. Assuredly, he will return soon.” She smiled and continued down the stairs with the soldier, leaving a trail of cheap scent.
Katrinka stared down the dark, empty hallway with its dirty walls and peeling paper. A fetid odor came from a small door at the end of the corridor, as well as a cold draft. She settled onto the floor to wait.
* * *
Much later, she woke with a start from her curled position. She stood, stretching her stiff limbs. Through an open window, she could hear laughter and voices drifting up from the street. The small hotel seemed entirely empty. Rummaging in her knapsack, she retrieved a pen and a slip of paper. After scrawling a brief message, she went downstairs to find the concierge still sitting behind the little desk. She showed no surprise at seeing Katrinka. Perhaps these things happened often.
“Madam, I leave you this note. Please tell the monsieur he can contact me when he returns, no matter what the hour.”
The woman nodded, taking her note.
Katrinka walked out, pulling her sweater more tightly around her. As she rounded a corner, the nutty, sweet aroma of roasting potatoes drifted through the air.
Following the smell to a small side street, she saw a street vendor behind his cart, wrapping potatoes into cones made from bits of paper. A large dog lay next to the cart, sleeping. She waited her turn, observing the young couple in front of her. The man had his arm wrapped around the woman’s waist and was whispering something in her ear. She leaned into his side to listen, then smiled. When Katrinka’s turn came, she gave the man a few francs and then walked away, holding the potato between her hands, its warmth seeping into her fingers.
The vendor’s dog followed, staring at the food with alert eyes, his tail motionless in the air. Katrinka stooped down, pulled off a bit of potato, and placed it in the flat of her palm. His tongue was warm and rough as he lapped it off, immediately begging for more. She broke off another piece, which disappeared as quickly as the first. That seemed to satisfy him, and he ambled to the other side of the street, to investigate a lamppost.
Just Another Girl on the Road Page 20
